After Visiting Hours
by Orlissa
Summary: Grant visits his dying grandmother one last time. Part of my Haylie/Ada/Ellie Verse, and it contains a healthy amount of Skyeward, even if she's not technically present in the story.


**A/N:** Finally, it's done! You don't know how long I've been working on this piece, which, by the way, started out as a "short and easy scene." It didn't end up being that. Anyway, it's a bit sad, a bit hopeful, and pretty much heartfelt–at least that's what I was going for.

A couple words about the story and the AU 'verse: it takes place in my Haylie/Ada/Ellie verse. Date-wise it's set just before the Christmas of 2014 (I fitted the start of the universe to the shooting of the Pilot, which means that according to it, Coulson's team was formed in January 2013), between seasons 2 and 3. In this AU, as you might be familiar with it, Ward was still HYDRA, but chose to side with Coulson & Co at the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. Still, the story makes references to him being associated with HYDRA and Christian doing his little anti-Grant campaign–I doubt it's been mentioned in any of my previous stories in this 'verse, but I imagine Coulson would want to keep Grant's change of teams under wraps, so he could capitalize his HYDRA connections later on. So, as far as the "outside world" is concerned–at least at this point in the story–, Grant Ward is a traitor to S.H.I.E.L.D, and Christian still tried to get him prosecuted, just like in canon.

Now, after this rather wordy foreword, let's get down to business (to defeat the Huns–sorry)! I hope you'll enjoy this story :)

 **Word Count:** 3872  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Disclaimer:** [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.]

* * *

 **After Visiting Hours**

There was something ironic about dying. When bringing up death, people tended to talk about "resting in peace" and "the eternal rest," when the actual process of dying–and Adelaide Ward was sure it applied to everyone to a certain degree–was anything but peaceful or restful.

For her, it meant the never ceasing smell of disinfectant that somehow permeated every corner and nook of the palliative care facility; the sound of the machines and the members of the staff, always on the move; the endless tests and checks and meds to be taken; and the oppressive feeling of _waiting_ , waiting for the inevitable, and the knowledge that this would be the last place she ever saw.

She pulled the covers a little bit tighter around herself and turned toward the window. It was well into the night, but sleep was evading her, like it did most of the time these days. It was almost as if her body was going on a strike–why sleep now, when there was so little time left?

So instead of fighting for sleep–it'd come eventually, one way or another–, she just gazed out of the window, at the city beyond the glass, bathing in the light of thousands of twinkling lights.

Christmas was just around the corner, and even the facility had put up some lights and tinsel in the hallways and even in some of the rooms to try and steal some holiday cheer among the melancholic walls. Not that it helped much–it only made her painfully aware that life went on outside, that this would be her last Christmas, and that how much it differed from the Christmases of past. She longed for the past, the holidays of the fifties and the sixties, when her children were still young; for a time when things somehow seemed simpler and brighter. She wished for seeing the sense of wonder on her children's faces as they opened their gifts on Christmas morning, for watching them play in front of the fireplace, for the terrible, formal dinners, and…

She had no illusions about her family visiting her during the holidays. They'd come, she knew, when things got bad, because that was the proper way of doing things–and the Wards did everything in the proper way–and because they couldn't risk people thinking they didn't even say goodbye. But until then–until then they had their excuses. Work keeping them in Boston or Chicago or D.C. or even abroad, not wanting to traumatize the children, having to take part in this charity or that, not feeling up to travel… Their conscience was clear, after all–they had bought her the best possible care money could buy. (There was one exception, of course, whose excuses wouldn't be empty, she was sure, but she didn't even dare to think about where he could be and what he could be doing.) She understood them, to a degree; she'd been in their place before. But she still couldn't help but wish for them.

Then, just as she was about to let her eyes drift closed, she heard the door of the room open slowly, quietly behind her back, but she didn't move; she was sure it was just one of the nurses checking on her, making sure that she was okay and she didn't need anything, and right then she didn't feel like dealing with them. She hoped if she feigned sleep, the nurse would leave. But instead of retreating footsteps, she heard the door closing softly, then her visitor took a slow, almost tentative step toward the bed before whispering a simple word into the dimness of the room.

"Gramzy?"

The sound of that words was as if an electric current had run through her body. It was something she hadn't heard in years–it felt like a lifetime–, and the voice had changed, but it was somehow still the same, unmistakable. Eyes opening wide and hands trembling, she pushed herself to a sitting position and turned toward the newcomer, turning on the bedside lamp as she moved.

For a moment, she still thought she was hallucinating–the man was wearing the uniform scrubs of the facility's staff, but his face, that face… She would recognize that everywhere.

"Grant?" The word escaped from her mouth in a whisper, sounding like a plea.

The man's lips pulled into a small smile as he stepped to the bed, leaned down, and took her hands into both of his, kissing the old, weathered skin. "It's me, Gramzy. It's me."

 _Grant. Her Grant. Her sweet grandson, he was there._

Tears prickling her eyes, she cupped his face in her hands, running her thumbs over his cheekbones, still scarcely believing that he was there. She hadn't seen him in years, since he was just a boy–since he'd dropped off the face of earth without a trace for years. Later on he'd written to her, and called sometimes, only to disappear for months and sometimes years again. (It's been over two years since she'd heard from him last…) And now, now he was here, right in front of her after over sixteen years, as if stepping out from a dream.

With keen eyes she inspected his face, taking account of every little change from the boy she'd once known. He'd always been a beautiful child, but–she remarked it with a sense of pride–he'd grown into a striking young man with dark hair and chiseled features. He was tall, towering over her, and clearly fit under the scrubs he wore. There was a faint bruise over his temple, but having an idea of what he did for a living, Adelaide didn't dare to ask.

"Oh my," she said instead, blinking rapidly to keep her tears at bay. "What a handsome man you've become!"

Grant flashed her a smile that was almost sad, then took her wrist and turned her hand so he could press a kiss into her palm. "You look great too, Gramzy." (She didn't call him out on the blatant lie, but she knew how she looked-weak, withered, diminished. The illness had taken its toll on her.) "I've missed you, and I just had to come to see you, but I can't stay for long." He took a subtle glance toward the glass wall of the room facing the hallway, covered with half-closed blinds, and when he saw that the coast was clear, he absently gestured at his attire. "As you can probably guess, I'm not exactly supposed to be here."

She just couldn't help letting out a small chuckle at the understatement of his words. She might have been old, but she was not ignorant: she knew very well that her grandson worked for the organization called S.H.I.E.L.D. (even if she only had vague ideas about what he actually did, and wasn't sure if she wanted to know the full extent of his job description), the one that had been declared a terrorist group about a year ago, only to be somewhat exonerated later on, and that he was, allegedly, in connection with the group called HYDRA. She also knew that his brother had campaigned for him to be prosecuted the previous Spring because of the latter, and that his demands had been met with curious silence from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s end. And she was also sure that her grandson and the organization was right for not bowing to Christian.

"But you'll surely sit with me just for a little while, right?" she asked instead.

Grant nodded with a small smile, then gently peeling her hands from his face and pulled up a chair to the bed.

She watched him as he moved–there was a quiet ease in his movements, a subdued confidence, but she could see his reservations; he wasn't completely comfortable in the situation. She couldn't blame him–it wasn't easy to find footing after such a long time spent apart, and even as a child, Grant strived for control, for a sure standing, for security. Something she'd always wished she had been able to give him.

They sat in silence for a few moments, maybe waiting for the other to talk, before she spoke. "So, tell me," she said, reaching for his hand (he had strong hands, warm, just like when he was a child), "how are you these days? Are you well?"

His eyes flickered from their joined hands to her eyes for a moment, then he looked away, almost as if he was embarrassed. "Gramzy, I…" He cleared his throat. "I just want you to know that…" He raised his gaze again. "I know you must be hearing things, not so good things, and some of them might be even true, and-"

"Grant, I know," she interrupted him. She didn't want to hear about that. She wanted know how _he_ was.

"No, please, let me finish." He took a deep breath. "I've done things, things I'm not proud of–I can say it now. I… I'd been in a very bad place for a very long time. But I'm on the right track now, I have people who support me, and I'm–no, please, just let me say this," he said when he saw her opening her mouth to say something. "Thank you. So I just want you to know that I'm doing my best to right my wrongs, and whatever you hear about me or S.H.I.E.L.D., I need you to remember this." He was silent for a moment, then added softly, almost whispering, "I don't want you to think that… I don't even know." One corner of his mouth pulled into a mockery of a smile. "That I'm a bad guy."

The look on his face made her wish that he was still a child, small enough that she could sit him in her lap and wrap her arms around him, shielding him from the evils of the world, only those days were long gone. Still, she wanted him to know that it was silly of him to think she could ever view him like that, only she wasn't sure if she could find the right words to convince him of that. So, in the end, she only squeezed his hand and said, "I won't. I promise."

He looked at her with silent gratitude and squeezed her hand back, but didn't say a word, so, after a short pause, she went on, leaning forward a bit, and speaking in a lively, excited voice, "Alright, but now tell me about yourself! Not about your work and all the things you can't even talk about–but about you. Are you happy?"

At her words, the first truly happy smile blossomed on his face ever since he'd stepped into her room.

"I am, Gramzy. Very much so." He cast his eyes down for a moment, almost bashfully, before going on, "Actually, I've just gotten married."

Adelaide gasped–partially in real surprise, partially just to play with him, almost like she had used to when he'd been just a kid.

"Grant Douglas Ward," she said, pronouncing every word carefully, with playful consternation, "how dare you? Without even inviting your poor, old grandmother to the ceremony?"

Catching up to her teasing quickly, he chuckled, shaking his head and raising a hand to his chin, nudging his lower lip with his thumb.

"Sorry, Gramzy. It was really intimate and rather impulsive, really–you are actually the first one from the family to know." He paused, than added with a little scoff, "And it was a bit less legal than we'd like as well, given our situation–she's with the agency, too–, but that'll be taken care of with time."

She smiled fondly at her grandson. "I'm sure you will, but let's go on now," she said with an impatience that was only partially feigned. "Tell me about her!" Then, her eyes shining mischievously, she added, "What would your father think about her?"

He laughed out loud at her question. "Oh, he'd hate her," he answered with a smirk. "For starters, she's biracial."

"Black?" she injected.

"No, Chinese. She was actually born in China, but grew up here. But in the foster system," he said in a voice that clearly that this would be strike two, before delivering the final blow, "And what's the worst: she's a liberal."

That last part sent her laughing–she could practically see how sour her son's face would turn when told that his newest daughter-in-law was not only not a white girl from a good family, but a person of color with a political standing the stark opposite of his. She'd actually pay to watch the scene unfold–she loved her son, but heavens, that man sometimes deserved a kick in the ass from reality. But her laughter soon turned into coughing–to dry, heaving coughs that left her clutching her chest as she struggled for air. Concern clearly written on his face, Grant, not sure what to do, hesitated for a moment, then stood up and poured her a glass of water from the jug standing on the nightstand. She accepted it with trembling hands, then took small, measured sips as he rubbed her back soothingly.

It took her body a little while to calm down; her fits were getting worse every day, but she didn't want to think about that now. Instead, when her coughs finally eased, she put the glass down, leaned back against her pillow, took a breath, then looking at Grant she asked him, "Tell me more! What's she like?"

That smile was back on his face in a blink of an eye, along with a light in his eyes she'd only seen on men deeply in love.

"She's… Gramzy, she's just amazing. Her name's Skye, and she's smart and brave and strong and kind–she just sees the best in people–, and funny and sassy, sometimes even brash, and so caring–sometimes I think she has a heart big enough to fit the whole world there" he went on, speaking more and more animatedly, his face alight with the adoration he clearly felt for his new wife. "And she has this relentless optimism, a way that lets her see something bright in everything. And she's so beautiful, she takes my breath away on a daily basis. And she's simply amazing at what she does–she mostly works with computers, and she can get into government databases about as easily as normal people send e-mails." He paused for a moment and smirked. "Actually, she's the one who helped me to get in here–if anyone were to check now, they'd find that Mark Shepard," he tapped the name tag on his uniform, "really is working here, according to the system. And I'm sure she's monitoring the facility's security video feed right now, just in case." He ran a hand through his hair. "She's just perfect, and she could have anybody she wanted, but somehow she still chose me." Still with a dreamy look on his face, he paused there for a moment, then, in a more subdued voice, he said, "And we're having a baby. It's a girl, we've just found out the other day." His smile grew even wider for a moment. "Gramzy, I'm having a daughter."

Rationally, Adelaide knew she should be concerned, worried, even. Her grandson was still in a perilous situation–still viewed as a criminal by most of the world (and no doubt hunted by other, less legal parties as well), living on the edge. Knowing what she knew, she was sure this was true for his wife as well. Their situation wasn't, by any means, one that a person should bring a child into with an easy mind. But there was something on Grant's face as he talked about his wife and unborn daughter, some unbridled joy bubbling just under the surface, that she couldn't help but catch as well.

The birth of a child was a happy occasion, something to be cherished, after all.

So instead of voicing any worries, she simply beamed at him, taking his hand once again. "Darling, what wondrous news! I'm sure you'll make an excellent father." She wished she could see his child–her great-granddaughter–and how he'd handle fatherhood, that she could be there for the early days to help and give advice, but she feared she wouldn't have a chance for that even before she asked her next question. "When is she due?"

Grant's face fell instantly. "In early June," he said quietly, and although Adelaide'd been expecting it, the sinking feeling that appeared in her stomach at his words still made her cast her eyes down and feel like she'd aged ten years in so many seconds. Neither of them voiced it, but both of them knew that there was no way she'd live that long.

"Skye's…" he started when the silence between them started to stretch uncomfortably long, but then stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. "She's taking pregnancy well so far. She was a little sick in the beginning, but it's mostly passed by now. The baby's doing great, too. Skye says she can now feel her move around sometimes, and-"

"Do you have a picture of her?" Adelaide interrupted him softly, looking up at him. "Of your Skye, I mean?"

Grant blinked, then nodded quickly. "Of course." He reached into the pocket of his pants, pulled out a cell phone, pushed some buttons, then handed the device to her. "Just swipe to either side to get to the next one."

A pretty, doe-eyed girl smiled at her from the screen. She was young, clearly somewhat younger than Grant, and she had a kind face, olive skin, dark, mischievous, almond-shaped eyes–a reminder of her heritage–, and long, gently curling hair, the tips tinted lighter than the roots in a way that she guessed was fashionable now. She was looking directly into the camera and smiling widely at it, obviously aware of the fact that her photo was taken. Adelaide swiped to the side–the next photo showed the same girl, in the same position, only now she had her tongue stuck out at the camera, which made the older woman chuckle. She _was_ sassy. Adelaide kept swiping slowly, observing the pictures carefully, one by one. There were some of the two of them, with Grant's arms around her shoulder, their faces nuzzled together or her head resting on his shoulder, one of them holding the camera away to take the picture, but the most of them was just the girl; she posed for some of them, smiling, hiding her face behind a book, or waving at the camera, while others were candid–Skye brushing her hair, looking out of the window, or being engrossed in whatever she read on the computer screen. There was even a picture of her sleeping, her hair tousled, the covers slipped a bit, revealing her bare shoulders, which had Adelaide sneak a sideways glance at her grandson, who gave her a small, embarrassed smile and a little shrug in response.

The last picture was a full body shot: Skye was standing sideways to the camera, her shirt pulled up, exposing her belly. There was a slight, but definite curve there, not prominent enough yet to be too hard to hide it, but clearly there. She was holding her shirt with one hand, the other resting at the bottom of her abdomen, cradling the small bump as she smiled down at it.

"We took that one just the other day," Grant said, leaning closer. "We just thought… I don't know, it felt a like a moment worth preserving."

Adelaide tore her gaze from the screen, then handed the phone back with a small smile. "It is. She really is beautiful. And she looks happy. Just like you." She sniffed, then reached for the handkerchief lying neatly folded on the nightstand and dabbed her eyes with its corner. "You know, I'm sure my pearls would look amazing on her–they'd compliment that skin beautifully."

"Gramzy, I… I don't…" he stammered, clearly not knowing how to handle what her words implied. "I don't think that's exactly her style."

"Nonsense," she waved, lying back against her pillow, "every woman needs a good string of pearls."

"Gramzy…" Grant chuckled, casting his eyes down for a moment–apparently having nothing wittier to say, which made Adelaide smile wider.

Silence fell between them after that. Grant raised his head and looked at her, but he said nothing; she remained just as silent, carefully studying her grandson's face–all those sharp angles and that strong nose, the mouth that seemed to be always just a moment away from smiling (that was new, but something she was happy to see), the keen eyes and the faint scar on his forehead. Neither of them dared to say it out loud, but she was well aware that this would be the last time she saw him, and so she wanted to etch his every feature into her memory, just in case she got to carry it with herself wherever she was going.

In the end, he was the one to break the silence. "I…" he started, then stopped and cleared his throat, as if he could hardly get the words out. "I should be going. I shouldn't-"

"Grant," she stopped him, reaching for his hand. "I understand, darling. I just-" She coughed into her handkerchief, her shoulders shaking. "I just want you to know that you coming here was the best Christmas gift I could have asked for. I love you, and I'm proud of you, dear."

"Gramzy…" He stood up slowly, carefully, then, blinking heavily, he leaned over her and pressed a kiss against her forehead. "I love you too."

She raised her hands and cupped his face in her palms, running her thumbs over his cheekbones one last time. "Would you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Tell your girl… Tell her that she's welcome, that I'm happy to have her in the family. That I wish I could have met her. And tell her thank you for me for taking care of you." She let out a teary little chuckle. "Heaven knows you needed someone like her. And Grant?"

"Yes, Gramzy?"

"Kiss that baby for me when she's born. Tell her great-grandma loves her very much."

"I will," he promised, kissed her cheek one last time. "Goodbye, Gramzy," he said, then stood up, put the chair back in its place, and walked across the room to the door. He then stopped at the doorstep, hand on the doorknob. He took a deep breath–she could see his shoulders rise then fall slowly–, then turned back and looked at her again. She could swear she saw unshed tears in his eyes. "Gramzy? Thank you. For everything."

Then, before she could have said anything, he left, closing the door silently behind himself.

Adelaide closed her eyes and let a single tear slid down her cheek. Whatever was awaiting for her, she was sure of one thing: her grandson would be alright.

She slept soundly after that.


End file.
